


Careless Love

by Vik_Mombuchika



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Mafia AU, more tags as I go on writing prompts, yes Sephiroth is in there because he became the inspiration for Victor's father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13082217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vik_Mombuchika/pseuds/Vik_Mombuchika
Summary: Some say the legend began with an assassination attempt that turned into a love story worthy of a (twisted) fairytale. Some say it had nothing to do with Victor Nikiforov's infatuation with Yuuri Katsuki, and all to do with his early rise, when, barely 25, he brought the suburbs of St. Petersburg completely under the rule of the bratva, even before the role of pakhan was passed to him after his father's imprisonment in Siberia. One way or the other, no one could deny that Victor Sergeijevic Nikiforov was one of a kind..Mafia!AU where Victor is the pakhan of the Russian bratva, and Yuuri the brother of the kumicho of a Yakuza family, tasked with the mission of seducing Victor and assassinate him. Obviously, it didn't work out how the Yakuza had planned. Now that the two have fallen for each other, the world of organized crime is in for quite the hurricane.Set in the RP verse created with @eroslike on Tumblr (find an overviewhere).Each chapter is a separate drabble and inspired by a prompt from Vityaweek2017 on Tumblr; they won't necessarily be in chronological order, although some prompts are connected to each other.





	1. Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Day 1: Heart"  
> Victor reacts to the news of Yuuri accepting an arranged marriage.  
> .  
> Yes I know I'm one day late for this but work is being such a pain in the a$$ recently... I just hope I'l be able to post other chapters on the right days!  
> Also, I am aware that an arranged marriage arc is present in the famous fic Masquerade by Ashida, which I recently started to read (and to whose level I can't dare to aspire, it's a great work of art). The idea for this arc, however, came to us before actually reading Ashida's work; moreover, I haven't actually read the ending of the arc in Masquerade, so I can't sincerely tell how strong the similarities may be. If they are strong, it is by coincidence.

"I'll carve your heart out and feed it to the wolves, Nikiforov!", the man screams as the blade dances closer to his skin, and Victor laughs, oh, he laughs so hard and so bitterly he doesn't know when he'll be able to stop.

Because it's funny, really, thinking of his heart right now, that puny, reddish thing beating in his chest, keeping him alive with his fleshy, ritmic beat, while his _true_ heart, the one that is not made of muscles, lies shattered somewhere half a continent away.

And to think that he only recently realized he had one, and, as cliché as it might have sounded, it was only after he lost it. Or, more precisely, after it was _stolen_ , and flew from St. Petersburg to Hasetsu, Japan, in the pocket of a certain Katsuki Yuuri. Funny thing, discovering he had a heart only at the age of 27, when he was already sitting at the very top of the world of Russian organized crime, when it was too late and just  _so unwise_ to possess one.

True enough, Victor had had to fly across Asia to get it back, and in the effort pulled one too many strings, angered one too many businessmen, as people in his trade fancied calling themselves. It had been all fun and games for a few years, Victor playing the pursuer with Yuuri while dealing and negotiating with the Yakuza, dancing a dangerous ballet with the kumicho’s brother as he gracefully moved from one deal to another with the ever-suspicious kumicho herself, until one day it all abruptly stopped.

Had Victor not been playing his cards well? Or had Yuuri just gotten tired of their game? Victor didn't know, but when he learned that Yuuri had accepted to go through with an arranged marriage, he purposefully ruled out the second possibility. Because Victor Nikiforov knew he could mend a mistake in strategy and diplomacy, but he would never be able to mend his heart if Yuuri shattered it into tiny little pieces by rejecting him.

"If you are to do so, my friend, you should first ask a certain pork cutlet bowl to give it to you. In the meanwhile, let me help you get rid of that finger. You don't really need it when you have nine more, right?"

His man was waiting for him, Victor thought as the blade descended into tender flesh. In nine days, Yuuri Katsuki's intended bride would be waiting for her groom at the altar, but the groom would never come. Not to _that_ altar, anyway.


	2. Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Day 2 - Youth"  
> A portrait of Victor before and after his rise to the role of pakhan. Tidbits on Victor's father.

If there was something that always struck Christophe Giacometti, bodyguard and right-hand man to the future pakhan, was how _fresh_  his charge looked, no matter the effort he apparently put in shaping his appearance on that of his father.

Sergeij “Sephiroth” Nikiforov had always exuded sheer power, that seasoned face of a KGB veteran had never looked young. But his son Victor, although the carbon copy of his progenitor, with his long grey hair and his shining blue-green eyes, looked more like the innocent, younger version of a Sergeij who lived in a world where violence was ruled out, than the destined heir to the leader of the Russian bratva.

Chris had forgotten how many times someone had assumed Victor Sergeijevic a fool just by looking at his face. Which actually played them into the young Nikiforov’s hands in the end, to be honest, so Chris wasn’t _really_ going to complain, even though Victor himself _did_ (and Chris was yet not sure whether Victor was _actually_ serious about his complaints, given how much fun the future pakhan seemed to take from torturing those who had dared underestimate him).

Victor’s men had long since learned that behind that angelic face lay a man whose sheer willpower was strong enough to turn tides, whose fascination with blades of all kinds revealed a twisted nature and even sicker ways to find pleasure and entertainment. And yet everytime they looked at him, it was a boy they saw, all light-heartedness and gentle smiles, apparently unaffected by the brutal nature of their daily business.

And when Victor and Sephiroth stood next to each other, the resemblance was uncanny, and yet kind of disturbing between two people who emitted such opposed auras.

Chris would never understand how a simple haircut and a business suit in the place of the usual turtleneck and jeans could change everything in the turn of a day, strip all youth from that face, turn Victor Sergeijevic Nikiforov into a _fiend_ , the farthest thing from fresh Chris had ever seen, even taking into account Sephiroth’s battle-seasoned appearance. Or perhaps it was the new ring on Victor’s finger, and the new title resting on his shoulders like a cloak, as the youngest pakhan in the history of the bratva sat for the first time on his destined chair and swore fire and blood on those who had ruined his father and sent him to a prison camp in Siberia from which so few had come back alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know. Sephiroth's in there, and I am SO SORRY, but I couldn't help myself.  
> Ever since I saw young Victor with those long hair I have been associating him to Sephiroth like COME ON THEY LOOK SO MUCH ALIKE. So Sephiroth became the primary source for fleshing out Victor's father, and the relationship between them.


	3. Living Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Day 3: Living Legend"  
> And so, the day of Yuuri's arranged marriage comes.

It was done.

Wows had been taken and lips had been kissed. A thin band of gold now rested on Yuuri’s finger, signalling belonging, marking possession.

And Victor had been there through it all, his heart beating loudly in his chest, threatening to tear it open from the inside, making him wonder whether his knees would be strong enough to hold him up to the end of the ceremony. He had silently sworn to himself he would not close his eyes until it was over, he wanted every single instant of that day to be burned into his mind like a scar, indelible like the tattoo he just got on his left breast, right above his heart. Yuuri’s name, hidden in a blue rose, a symbol of mystery, of attaining the impossible. A symbol of love at first sight.

But he couldn’t take it in the end, he hadn’t watched as Yuuri leaned in for the kiss, because _God_ , this was too much, even for a man who gutted people alive and then fucked his lover against a wall in the very same room, with the corpse of the victim still oozing blood behind them, too excited, too needy for that touch to move it to the bedroom.

No, Victor Sergeijevic Nikiforov, the pakhan of St. Petersburg, couldn’t take it as Yuuri Katsuki, brother to the kumicho Mari, leaned in to kiss him after wowing to be his husband for the days to come, and he had closed his eyes, letting Yuuri’s lips and tongue take the lead, trusting Yuuri’s arms to keep him on his feet because he was too happy, too overwhelmed by the idea of being married to the love of his life, to hold himself up straight.

Later on, Yuuri turned to face him, as they sat on the beach, watching the Spanish sun set under the sea, its last rays lighting up their faces, reflecting on their twin golden rings, on the car they left parked on the side of the street behind them.

“Viten’ka… Aren’t you worried about how your men are going to react? I mean, can you imagine what everyone's going to say, when the word spreads?”

A hand rested on Yuuri’s cheek, Victor’s thumb tracing his lips slowly, lovingly.

“Yuuri. _Moya lyubov_. My husband. Do you know how they call me?”

“The Living legend?”

“Mh mh. So, if they have to write my legend, I want it to be about the pakhan who fell in love with his Yakuza killer, kidnapped him the day said killer was supposed to get married to some Japanese heiress, married him in Barcelona, and went on a honeymoon with him on a pink Cadillac. What do you think?”

“It... has a nice ring to it. Apart from the pink Cadillac part.”

Victor laughs, and they kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the arranged marriage arc.  
> Also known as: "Victor doesn't literally give a fuck"


	4. Fashion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Day 4: Fashion"  
> Yuuri and Victor's first encounter alone, after the assassination attempt.

Yuuri's suit jacket falls to the floor with barely a whisper, sensual and graceful as the figure it had served to cover, the body that, Victor decided, is never gonna be for someone else's eyes. His guns come next, the low thud of the metal hitting the ground resounding ominous and full of promises in the empty warehouse. Victor watches, enthralled, unable to speak, knowing what is going to come off next as Yuuri's hands move up to undo the knot of his necktie, slow, deliberately, agonizingly _slow_. Victor doesn't know what is louder, the rustle of Yuuri's tie following the jacket on the floor, or Victor's own heavy breath as he waits, desperate, agonizing, for Yuuri to undo that  _goddamened_ first button. Or perhaps it's neither, and the only real sound breaking the silence enveloping them like a protective blanket is in truth Victor's heart, beating fast, pumping blood down, causing a painful and yet welcome strain between his legs.

The first button finally comes undone, then the second, and _God_ , Victor can't help himself, he  _has_ to step forward, _needs_ to press his hands to those perfect collarbones, then move them to Yuuri's shoulders as the Yakuza's hands work faster and faster, sensing the pakhan's impatience, feeling it reflected in his own. The dark grey shirt is quickly thrown to the floor, and lips are smashed together as two frantic pairs of hands battle to get hold of Yuuri's belt, each seeking to be the one to unbuckle it. And there goes the buckle, followed by the button of Yuuri's pants, then the sound of the zipper being pulled down cuts the silence in half, pulling the two men apart.

Victor's eyes move down, and it's only then that he notices them. The ink on Yuuri's hips hadn't been there the last time Victor was allowed to see so much of the other's flesh, the night Yuuri had tried to fulfill his mission and kill him in his sleep.

He grins, splaying his hands on Yuuri's hips and sneaking them down his legs to free them of Yuuri's pants and underwear, as the pakhan kneels in front of him, his eyes at the level of Yuuri's newly acquired tattoos. Yuuri tenses, feeling the proof of his belonging to the Yakuza being so shamelessly exposed to the man his family had ordered dead not so many months ago.

"These weren't there the last time I saw you, _zolotse_." Victor murmurs as his thumbs trace the elegant lines moving up Yuuri's thighs to reach his hips. "You still got them, even after failing your mission."

Yuuri swallows.

"I love them."

Victor looks up, exposing his neck, and the thin, horizontal scar right in the middle of it. Yuuri knows it perfectly well, as it was Victor's own blade that left it, when Yuuri had held it against the pakhan's throat, pressing only so much to draw dark red blood before hastily retreating, his mission failed in the face of the tumultous feelings overwhelming him.

Victor notices the direction Yuuri's gaze is lingering on, and pats the scar.

"I'll wear it proudly as my best tie." is Victor's only explanation before his hands go back on Yuuri's thighs, grabbing them as his lips and tongue start worshipping Yuuri's newly-acquired tattoos, as his own personal way of thanking God for giving him the astonishing sight of a naked Katsuki Yuuri again, new tattoos and all.

Yes, Victor definitely prefers his beautiful Yakuza this way. Yuuri's taste in tattoos is definitely _so_ much better than his fashion sense anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am late again ;-;  
> I had this ready yesterday but literally crashed asleep on the dinner table at 9 p.m. so I couldn't publish this until now D:


	5. Hashtag Ninja!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Day 6: Hashtag Ninja" (favourite Victor quote)  
> Back from a tiring work day, Victor finds an unexpected surprise waiting for him in his office.

"You know, Yuuri, we should definitely burn that unfashionable tie."

Yuuri's smirk widens as he looks straight in Victor's eyes, still not moving from where he showed up, unexpected, stitting on the edge of the pakhan's desk in his - at least one would imagine- extremely guarded house in the center of St. Petersburg (and really, how did the Japanese sneak in through all this security, Chris curses in his mind, is he a fucking ninja or something?!).

"You don't like it, Vitya? Perhaps I should show you something else you might enjoy more."

It takes just an almost imperceptible tilt of the pakhan's head for his men to vacate the studio in a moment, then Victor locks the door and waits for Yuuri to come to him. Which Yuuri does, slow but decisive, his intent burning strong in his eyes as he traps the pakhan between himself and the door.

"It's warm in here, and you're wearing too many layers, Viten'ka." Yuuri murmurs in Victor's ear as he slips his hands under Victor's coat, enjoying the way the fur on the collar tickles the back of his hands. Russian winters _are_ cold, after all, but Yuuri knows the best way to fight it off.

It doesn't take long for Victor to end up naked, the light from the fire dancing on that porcelain white skin, interrupted only here and there by the black lines of Victor's inks. Two wind stars on the shoulderblades, a skull at the center of his chest, a symbol for a killer, and, above his right hip, St. Mary and the infant Jesus Christ, marking his dabbling with a criminal lifestyle from an early age; on his back -Yuuri can't see it right now, but he has seen it already, had kissed it over and over again as he undressed Victor-, the tattoo representing the young pakhan's status, an eagle spreading its wings all across Victor's back up to his shoulders, and under it, a simple word, север, _north_ , a constant reminder of his father's imprisonment in Siberia, which made of Victor Nikiforov the youngest pakhan in the history of the bratva.

Victor looks up from the armchair Yuuri had him sit on, as the Yakuza stands before him, fully clothed except for his tie. And when Yuuri kneels before him, taking him in his mouth, all the pakhan can do is moan loudly, and buck his hips only once because Yuuri's hands grab his waist immediately after that, pinning him down, and then moan and moan and moan, pleading for release in Russian because Yuuri's mouth has made him forget his English, as he desperately tries to break free from the _damn_ tie with which Yuuri has trapped his hands behind the armchair.

And once Yuuri is done with him, Victor just lies in the armchair, exhausted, looking up at his partner with a tired smile, his wrists aching from how much the knots had tightened around his flesh with all the fight he put on to break free, just to _touch_ that flesh, that body that has drawn a pleasure from him Victor has never known before.

"God, Yuuri," Victor mouths, out of breath. "Once you untie me, I will definitely burn this tie."


	6. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Day 6: Love"  
> Victor suffocates a revolt against him, and Yuuri has to deal with the aftermath.

It was over. Guns had stopped firing half an hour before, with that last, single shot that had resounded in the pakhan's office, when Victor had pulled the trigger, the barrel of his Ruger trailed on Yakov's forehead.

It was the end of months of constant fear, of running away, hiding from the bratva; men whom Victor had once ordered around now let loose on a hunt for the ring on Victor's finger, the ring of the pakhan which Yakov had reclaimed for himself as his final lesson to his pupil.

And Yuuri had been at Victor's side through it all, the daring flight in Japan first, then Thailand as they discovered the Yakuza was not going to choose a fallen pakhan's side, no matter his ties to the brother of the kumicho; then Kazakhstan, Georgia, Ukraine, Italy, then America and Colombia, to rally up allies; then Siberia, so that Victor could bet all he had in a foolhardy plan to free his father. Then, finally, western Russia again, no more the hunted but the hunting, Yekaterinburg, Novosibirsk, Volgograd, and finally Moscow, St. Petersburg. And Yuuri had been there, had seen it all, Yuuri Katsuki, the very cause of all this unrest, the man for whose love Victor Nikiforov, the Living Legend, had almost lost his title and his life.

And it was to Yuuri that Victor now clung, tired, weary, wounded, as the Yakuza led him to his bathroom, though the bedchamber they had shared for many long nights, what now seemed an era ago. The bedchamber that was now theirs again.

"I didn't kill him, in the end." Victor murmurs as Yuuri has him sit in the bathtub, gently taking off his clothes layer by layer, flinching as Victor hisses in pain when bloodied fabric is pulled away from the wound in his side.

It's not deep, the bullet barely scrateched Victor's side without really going in, and Yuuri thanks the Gods because this intestine war has already brought Victor to the verge of death once already, and Yuuri doesn't think he can stand to witness it a second time.

"I should have, for what he did to you."

Victor raises a hand to cup his cheek, marring it red with the blood that is apparently everywhere now, and Yuuri goes back to a few months prior, when Yakov had ordered him to be captured, used him to lure Victor in a trap and give his pupil one simple choice: kill the Japanese who was, in the old Feltsman's mind, distracting him from his duties as pakhan, or point the knife at himself and let the bratva choose its next leader over the last Nikiforov's corpse. They had managed to escape that time, thanks to Yuri Plisetsky, but it had been a close call, too close for comfort, for Yuuri had had time to see Victor point the blade at his own heart before the sound of Yurio's rifle had broken through the night, breaking the silence and prompting their flight.

"Living to see us together while you rule the bratva again will be _your_ lesson to _him_ , Victor."

"Mh." Victor nods, and closes his eyes, letting Yuuri treat his wound and wash his body clean from all the dirt, the blood, the weariness, until his skin and his hair are white and pristine as ever.

"Yuuri."

When Yuuri is done cleaning himself as well and tending to his own cuts and bruises, Victor reaches up to him with both hands, a child waiting to be picked up by his parent, and Yuuri wraps his arms around him, comforting, warm, _alive_.

"You're tired, Vitya. Let me put you to bed."

Yuuri lifts him up, carrying him bridal-style to the bed, and even as he puts him down, Victor's hands never leave Yuuri's neck.

"Make love to me, Yuuri. Please."

There is no tease in Victor's voice, no playfulness, just sheer need to be held, to be _loved_. To find solace from all this in the arms of the only man who can give him rest.

And Yuuri complies, gentle, loving, careful, all sweet kisses and soft touches, letting Victor wrap his legs behind his back as he slowly but steadily thrusts into Victor to lead them both into a much-needed orgasm. It's perhaps the first time they only do it once before falling asleep in each other's arms, and when they do, Victor's face is buried in Yuuri's chest, and Yuuri has the time to think he has never seen Victor so beautiful and vulnerable in his life.


	7. Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Day 7: Life"  
> The Living Legend rises again to take back his throne, with a very special Prince at his side.

_Make love to me, Yuuri_ , Victor had begged the night before, leaving himself open and vulnerable as he has never been before, giving himself over completely to Yuuri, abandoning his body and soul to his care. He had been no pakhan as he had fallen asleep in Yuuri's arms, just a boy of 29, worn-out, exhausted.

Yuuri can't see his face right now, not as Victor stands naked in front of the open window from which the morning light now seeps is, but he _knows_ Victor is wearing the same tired look even after the night's rest, he can read it in the way Victor's shoulders fall, in the slight tremble as he raises a hand to touch the glass in front of him, as if Victor is trying to open it, to break free from a prison that has no physical barriers.

"Victor."

Yuuri walks up behind Victor and wraps his arms around his midsection, watching the grandiose show of the Neva flowing majestic in the middle of St. Petersburg, rushing to the sea.

"We're still in time, you know." Victor says, covering Yuuri's hands with his own, and Yuuri feels chills running down his spine, because he knows where this might lead, and it's gonna _hurt_. "I only shoved Yakov out of the pakhan's chair, not sat in it myself. Not yet. My father's free. We're still in time. We could leave. Just you and me, and Makkachin, on the Cadillac. Like our honeymoon, but this time we won't be coming back. Wouldn't you like it, Yuuri?"

 _Yes_ , Yuuri wants to scream, _yes, let's just leave, let us just be Yuuri and Victor, nobodys in a world that doesn't give a fuck what we do, who we are_.

"No, Vitya." he says.

Victor turns, abruptly, flinching as he pulls on the wound on his side.

"Why?"

This is the hardest part, and the easiest at the same time. It's easy, because the truth is laid bare before him to see, Yuuri has known it from the beginning, has always read it on the ink on Victor's skin, on the glinting light in his eyes, on the way Victor's chin is tilted. And it's hard, because admitting the truth means choosing a life of fighting and death over the dream Victor had just offered him on a silver platter.

"Because _you_  wouldn't like it. Yes, we could leave, just you and me and Makkachin, we could disappear without any traces. We could have our life together. But will it be enough, Victor? Take a look." Yuuri takes Victor's right hand in his, lifting it, showing Victor the pakhan's ring resting on his index finger. "Even now, as you ask me to flee, you're still wearing it."

Victor swallows, takes the ring off, puts it in the palm of his hand, studies it. Then lets out a frustrated snarl, throwing the ring to the floor as he sits on the edge of the bed, hiding his face in his hands. Yuuri waits for Victor to speak again, watching him, giving him the time he needs.

"I can't do it, Yuuri. I don't want to go out there and be the pakhan again."

Yuuri chuckles, and it's the saddest laugh that has ever left his lips, because of all the lies Victor has told (not to him, _never_ to him, Victor would never lie to Yuuri, but he had lied so many times, lying is a constant of their business after all), this is the greatest, and the most painful; for Victor, for the first time, is lying to himself. Yuuri steps forward, taking the ring Victor has so harshly thrown away and placing it on the bed next to Victor, then kneels before him, taking the other man's hands in his.

"Victor, look at me. Vitya, Viten'ka, my love. Listen to me. You can, and you _will_."

Yuuri pulls him up, brings him in front of the giant mirror on the wall.

"It's in your blood, it flows through your veins since the day you were born. And not because you're the son of Sergeij Nikiforov."

Yuuri leaves him only briefly, to go through Victor's wardrobe, then comes back with a complete change of clothes. Elegant clothes, fit for a pakhan. He offers Victor his underwear, and helps him put it on.

"It's something in the way you look, in the way you move. It's in your eyes, in your hands, in the way you tilt your chin."

As he speaks, he lifts Victor's chin only sightly, and he can already feel that slight tension flowing back through Victor's muscles, turning his body into that of a predator. Then he puts Victor's shirt on him, letting Victor watch himself in the mirror as the image of the pakhan slowly takes over that of the weary boy, as Yuuri puts layer after layer of clothing on him.

"You were _born_ to be pakhan. This is the life you were _made_ for." Yuuri murmurs as he smooths creases in Victor's shirt.

Then he takes a step back, admiring his work, a fully-clothed Victor Nikiforov, the Living Legend reborn before his eyes like a phoenix from its ashes. Only one thing is missing.

Yuuri faces Victor, lifting he pakhan's ring and offering it to him.

"You can't lie to me, Victor, even if you can try lying to yourself. You'll take this ring, and you'll go out there, and you'll be the king you were born to be."

It takes just a moment of silence, then Victor takes the ring, puts it back on, and there it comes, Victor's smile, the _pakhan's_ smile, the one promising fire and blood and all shades of pleasure in between. But it's not just that, there's more hidden under that smile, a softness that will disappear once they cross the door, a loving streak that is for Yuuri Katsuki alone, as Victor lifts his husband's right hand and kisses the golden ring, twin to the one that has never left Victor's own finger ever since Barcelona.

"If so, _moya lyubov_ , you shall be by my side."

Yuuri smiles.

"Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been in such a hurry to publish these drabbles that I didn't even think of asking for a review...?  
> I am really sorry for leaving this without so much as a side note on my part to make this a little more personal, but I have been in a terrible hurry so far (and tbh still am).  
> Anyway, I'd appreciate il you let me know what you thought of this!

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of the arranged marriage arc will soon be up in Chapter Three ;)


End file.
